


Days of Legends Past

by kloppinthekop



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Football RPF, Greek and Roman Mythology, Sports RPF
Genre: (like Merlin and Arthur?), Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Gerlonso - Freeform, Gerlonso will never truly die, Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Marie de France, Medieval poetry, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, Reincarnation, Tragic Romance, Warning that Xabi dies once but only as Eurydice in Stevie's dream, bc Arthurian legend is also touch and go with death, but greek mythology can get confusing ok, is that enough tags to telegraph how much angst Gerlonso entail?, okay i lied bc Xabi also dies but gets reincarnated in another vignette, one more time for good measure: ANGST, sneaky BBC Merlin crossover, so he doesn't die in the reality of the fic?, sorry if that's confusing, though their earthly bodies may once pass away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kloppinthekop/pseuds/kloppinthekop
Summary: "When you left, it broke my heart."Three vignettes of Stevie G/Xabi Alonso related to various and sundry myths and legends, because who else but Gerlonso could best epitomize the tragic love stories of yore?





	Days of Legends Past

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the footballkinkmeme [August prompt: myth/legend](https://footballkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1437.html).
> 
> If you're new to the good ship Gerlonso (because someone brought it to my attention that they are now Old Men and wow yeah that’s a strange feeling thinking some people my age don’t know of Gerlonso), [HERE](https://lightredemption.livejournal.com/71529.html) is an extensive primer on the pairing. If you just want the short version, [HERE](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CBQP8x3UkAAAHJ6.jpg) is all the proof you need of their twu wuv (yes, they really did kiss when they won the Champion's League Cup in 2005, never forgetttt).

## 01\. The Legend Forever

It has been nearly ten years.

Stevie touches the photo he keeps of the two of them, holding the Champions League Cup in Istanbul. It is not a private photo, but it feels like one. He keeps it in a plain wooden frame by the side of the bed.

His fingers linger on the glass that separates his skin from the captured image of Xabi, a pale imitation when compared to flesh and blood; a beating heart under the weight of his hand on the Spaniard’s heaving chest: the only barrier between them. Now, a thin pane of glass that separates them. Along with hundreds, thousands of miles.

The pads of Steven’s fingers ghost over Xabi’s face, gleaming in the afterglow of history made. Seconds after they had kissed. Stevie is still looking at Xabi in the photo, oblivious to the world around them.

Stevie is still looking at Xabi, nearly fifteen years later.

That night, he dreams a strange dream. It comes to him from a time even further removed than the days of Istanbul. The dream hails him from ancient times, when gods meddled and took interest in the tiny lives of humans.

He dreams that he is Orpheus, the father of songs, son of King Oeagrus, earthly progeny of the Muse Calliope. Apollo, the god of music, has gifted him a golden lyre that sings like water passing over glistening pearls. Aphrodite, the goddess of love, has gifted him a wife who gleams like starlight over lush fields of wheat.

Eurydice.

The dream shifts imperceptively, and the lyre has transformed into a round ball, black and white. Eurydice has transmutated into Xabi, the syllables of those beloved names melding into one another until they were indistinguishable. Xabi still shines with the light of celestial grace. Orpheus—Stevie—still loves him with an ardor unparalleled.

The boundaries collapse until Steven cannot tell myth from dream, dream from reality.

One day, Xabi is dancing with the Nymphs, his body sylph-like and elegant, and Stevie longs to join him, but is also content to view him from the sidelines.

A body materializes: Aristaeus. ( _Pellegrini_.) The shepherd ( _manager_ ) falls in love with Eurydice ( _Xabi_ ) for her luminous beauty ( _for his unparalleled skills_ ), and attempts to steal her ( _him_ ) away. Eurydi _xabi_ continues to dance, _hi_ r body floating across the field. _Gerra_ rpheus can only watch from a distance, as if frozen, as danger strikes. Xabi is no longer floating; his path has crossed with that of a serpent, a white and black writhing thing, and his body falls, sinking into the ground below. He has been claimed. His soul has transferred over into the other world, the Underworld. _Madrid_.

Steven is devastated.

Desolation has stolen over his mortal heart, which feels like it has been blasted into a million jagged pieces.

He steals onto the field, body unfrozen by grief. Plucks a golden ball from thin air and, unthinking, begins to play. As his feet begin to move, music washes over the world, and all living souls draw near. Even dead souls gather to hear him play. Even the gods above stop to watch the man below wallowing in grief that has no words, just music, just movement.

Struck by sorrow, Steven descends into Hell, _the Underworld_. It is an irrational decision, but Stevie is driven by blind anguish. The gods, who take pity on this remarkable mortal—a legendary player, but nevertheless a mortal—shield his body and grant him safe passage through the underworld, until at last he reaches Hades.

Steven kneels at the god’s black throne. Suddenly, a field of grass springs up between him and the god, and Stevie knows what he must now do.

Steven does what he knows best. He plucks his lyre, dancing over the lush green field beneath his feet, weaving fingers betwixt golden strings, weaving feet between the spectres of opposition players that dot the field like lost souls.

And not even the god of the underworld can remain immune to his powers, to his love for Xabi. Hades extends him an offer: Steven can take his lover back with him into the world of the living ( _Liverpool_ ), on one condition: the mortal must must not look back. One look, and Xabi will be lost forever.

Steven can feel joy seeping back into his bones. He thanks the god, and, taking the ball into his hands, he begins his ascent with the knowledge that Xabi is behind him once more.

But with each footstep forward, treading across the cold darkness between worlds, doubts creep in. He was so used to hearing Xabi’s sibilant voice calling out to him as they had once played together, dancing across the fields of England, Europe, and beyond. He hears nothing, no one, now. His heart feels as if it is being clenched by a vice-like grip, and his blood runs cold, though he is not dead. Not like Xabi, not like his lover.

Steven can see sunlight, hear voices from beyond the pale. Still he cannot hear Xabi, longs to listen to his soft accented voice. Stevie can sense that he is only footsteps away from the living world. Surely, one look… a single glance could not hurt, now that they are so close. Just one look, and one step, and they will cross together into the living world once more. Liverpool, once more.

Steven looks back, with a grin spreading across his face. But as soon he does, the shadow behind him— _Xabi!_ —is whisked away. Before Stevie can move a muscle, the man is gone.

Steven finds himself alone. He finds himself walking alone (and a song echoes from the stands, mocking him with its words: _you’ll never walk alone; walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone_ ). He walks alone across the fields of green, and he has never felt so empty.

This is how the story goes.

_This is how the dream goes…_

When he wakes, sunlight streaming through the thin fabric that fell like a veil over the glass pane of window (like a curtain separating one world from another), he can no longer recall what it is that he has just dreamt. He catches a lingering wisp of wistfulness though, and feels achingly bereft. Catches a phrase he has once uttered, a declaration for the world and all the gods to hear: _When you left, it broke my heart_.

He rises to shut the curtains, and returns to bed.

Returns to a fitful but dreamless slumber.

## ✂

## 02\. Broke Me Heart

_Une aventure vus dirai,_

_Dunt li bretun firent un lai;_

_Laüstic ad nun, ceo m'est vis,_

_Si l'apelent en lur païs;_

_Ceo est russignol en franceis_

_E nihtegale en dreit engleis._

– “Laüstic” (in Old French, c. 1180) by Marie de France

  
The story that I’ll tell today,

the Scousers made into a lay.

By Merseyside there was a town

famed far and wide, of great renown.

Two men lived there in luxury:

fine houses, clobber, cars, money.

They went to all the tournaments,

in their matching crimson vestments,

and loved each other secretly,

those two named Steven and Xabi.  
  


Quietly they loved each other

but each married to another.

But on the field stood side by side

there wasn’t much that they could hide.

Love apparent to all and far,

they revolved ‘round like Earth and star.

However, they could not aspire

to reach the peak of their desire

and one day came when torn apart,

one left, and one said: “Broke me heart.”  
  


One sent letters but distance grew;

while one won glory, one stayed true.

And like the bird perched on his shirt,

sent notes of song, though they grew curt.

But still he sang, through hurting heart,

as each day passed, grew further ’part.

One’s heart beat red, despite the miles,

and hoped again to see him smile.

And ten years since the Basque transferred,

sang still fondly the Liverbird.

(a Gerlonso poem based on/inspired by “Laüstic," a medieval era poem/Breton lay by Marie de France, which you can read [HERE](http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/11/ka_mate11_ross.asp).)

## ✂

## 03\. I Missed You Every Day

“It was clear Alonso was royalty after our first training session together in August 2004... He was, by some distance, the best central midfielder I ever played alongside.”

– Steven Gerrard

It has been nearly ten years.

Steven’s career has been reincarnated: he is now manager of the Rangers. The blue scarf, with red stripes surrounded by white—the colors of the Union Jack, of England; of _Albion_ —is not quite his blue starry cloak of old, but it does the job suitably.

Stevie’s magic has transmutated too. He can no longer whisk fire into the shape of a dragon (turning the flames white, for his new-old allegiance to England, though sometimes his love for his two homelands—Liverpool and Wales—have made him miss the vibrant hues of red), can no longer whip the winds into a frenzy (can no longer claim the elements to be under his sole command), can no longer turn stone into living, breathing, barking flesh (although he must admit that he does retain a certain fondness for dogs).

He has changed, his name has changed, but he remembers everything. He remembers Great Britain under a different name: Albion. He remembers himself under a different name: Merlin.

But most of all, he remembers Xabi under a different name: Arthur.

The irony is not lost on him that Xabi, once-Arthur, the once-and-future-king, has left England for good, has chosen Madrid over Liverpool. Madrid, over Merlin. Madrid, over Stevie.

Stevie, however, has never left. Sure, he has traded Liverpool for Ibrox, Glasglow, but his heart is still in Great Britain, isn’t it? He’s still here.

Waiting.

Waiting for his once-and-future king.

He will wait until eternity if he has to. And indeed, it has felt like an eternity.

At least in this incarnation, as Steven Gerrard, he has breathed the same air as his lover, has united with him on the field. They connected so well, he thought surely Xabi must have noticed. Thought that surely, he would have come to a realization.

 _The_ realization.

But Arthur was still under a deep slumber, hidden in the depths of Xabi. The Basque man with a soft heart, the body of a god, the mind of a king. The man who ruled the field alongside him for so many years, who had once ruled all of Albion.

Who would once rule again, in the future.

But every day of the past, every day of the present, he has been the man that Steven (Merlin) has missed.

Merlin, Gerrard, was growing tired of waiting (because although he was the most powerful warlock of all time, his feelings had gone native: he had begun to think like a mortal human), but would never lose faith in his king. He would wait for a hundred, a thousand— _a million_ —more lifetimes, if his king required it. Because he knew that one day...

One day, they would reunite, and all of Albion/Anfield would rejoice.

He had missed him every day from the moment he left the Reds. He had missed him every day from the moment he had died as Arthur, and changed into a thousand different men since. He had missed him every day, he had loved him every day: every single one of him.

At least in this lifetime, they had gotten to play together.

At least in this lifetime, they had kissed.

At least in this lifetime, Xabi— _his once-and-future-king_ —had known what it was to touch him, what it was to exist alongside him.

And Stevie couldn’t be sure—could only hear the now-Basque man’s heartbeat pulsing as a faint memory at the back of his head, buried under centuries of moments between the two of them—but he thinks that at least in this lifetime, Xabi had known what it was to love him.

As Arthur had once loved him.

_Once._

_His once-and-future king._

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of each vignette comes from a quotation by either Stevie or Xabi.
> 
>   1. The Legend Forever: a [caption by Xabi](https://twitter.com/xabialonso/status/801768071832735744?lang=en) on the occasion of Stevie's retirement in 2016.
>   2. Broke Me Heart: a [quotation by Stevie](https://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/news/when-you-left-broke-heart-10453126) on the occasion of Xabi's retirement, discussing when he left Liverpool in 2009
>   3. I Missed You Every Day: a [caption by Stevie](https://www.instagram.com/p/BRau2ukBoSw/?hl=en) on the occasion of Xabi's retirement in 2017 (includes a Gerlonso pic in the linked Instagram post)
> 

> 
> \---
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much loved.
> 
> You can say hi at my tumblr here: <http://dr-azumi-fujita.tumblr.com> (formerly adleriarty)
> 
> P.S. I'm going to attempt to make an accompanying graphic or moodboard at work later this week when I have access to Photoshop. I'll post it to my tumblr and add it to this endnotes section if/once I've done that. [edit] Here's the moodboard/graphic: [CLICK HERE!](http://dr-azumi-fujita.tumblr.com/post/177308214416/days-of-legends-past-when-you-left-it-broke-my) (Mini versions below)
> 
>   
> 
> P.P.S. Gerlonso was my very first football OTP, long before I discovered the football fandom. Ah. The days of legends past.


End file.
